More Than Good Looks: A Brendon UrieXOC fluff
by HulloDarling-Dearest
Summary: Vi, an LA fashion designer, meets Brendon Urie at a party. Soon after, the two become friends, but Vi begins to feel herself growing attached to the singer. Will their relationship become more than friendly?


I sigh as I pull on my favorite pair of combat boots, thinking about what tonight may bring. Elfie, my agent, has been RSVP-ing me for parties held by the trendiest and hottest celebrities ever since Jessica Alba wore a dress I designed to the Oscars. She was photographed by a paparazzo and the picture ended up in _Elle_ magazine, launching my fashion career and giving me a name in the world of celebrity. I usually detest these parties, but tonight, Elfie has requested my presence at a punk-rock themed party; I'm glad about this, considering the fact that my personal style is more punk-rock than the other designers out there. My lace leggings give just a peek of my porcelain skin and turn completely opaque at the mid-thigh. Ah, modesty. I pull on a maroon tunic and throw my hair up into a messy ponytail, the long mahogany waves mingling with the occasional streaks of vivid electric blue. I play with one of the blue streaks, contemplating leaving it to hang in my face. I look in the mirror and decide that my chunky blue bangs are enough. I hope they don't make me look like a kid, or worse, unfashionable. Elfie once explained to me that bangs were very much out of style, but that dyeing them all one solid color could bring them back. I sigh, pick up my kohl pencil, and get to work lining my large blue eyes. My phone rings, startling me. My pencil slips and leaves me with a long black line marring my face. I grimace at my reflection and slide the screen, answering the call. Elfie's melodic, I-don't-care voice pours through the speaker.

"Vi, darling, the party tonight was canceled. Sorry for the terribly short notice, but don't just throw yourself on the chaise like I know you will. I've arranged for you to appear at another party. This one is dress-coded as 'semi-formal' so I'm sure you still look the part. If you'd just meet me at the corner of Sunny Avenue and West Boulevard, I'll have a limo pick us up. See you in fifteen, babes," she says, ending the call.

"UGH!" I exclaim, falling back onto the bed. I badly want to stand Elfie up, but I know that she'll never forgive me. I decide to finish up my make-up, dabbing on some rouge and swiping my favorite black lipstick across my mouth. I quickly coat my lashes in mascara, grab my black leather purse, and dart out the door. I just hope I meet someone noteworthy tonight.

I hail a cab with a wave of my hand and tell him to take me to the address Elfie mentioned earlier. I sigh as I pop a piece of strawberry bubblegum into my mouth and lean my head back against the seat. I check my wallet for my ID and am slightly relieved to see my old blonde self staring back at me from the driver's license slot. I really need to get the picture redone.

The driver yells at me to get out, stating in a thick Northern accent that my destination has arrived. I step out of the cab and nearly trip over the unseen curb; I swear as Elfie catches me in her thin, pale arms. "Vi, dear, you have to be more careful. I'm just glad you weren't in heels!" she jokes. I look at her with what I hope to be a look of disgust on my face. Elfie shuts her mouth. My expression seems to have worked.

Elfie links her arm through mine and leads me up the darkened street, the lamps making a yellowish path. We're pretty much the only ones on this side of town, with the occasional hooker, drug dealer, and old hippy lining either side of the street. "Elfie, where are you taking me?" I ask her; I'm slightly concerned that she'll lead me into a dark alley and abandon me. Elfie laughs and continues dragging me to the unknown venue.

"Close your eyes!" she commands. I do so, trusting her for whatever reason. I know that I really shouldn't. Elfie can be kind of crazy sometimes. "Okay, now open them!" she says after what feels like maybe four minutes. My eyelids flutter open and my jaw goes slack.

The part of town the venue is in does not fit the palace that stands before me. It looks like something you'd find back in my home state of Louisiana, not something from LA. There's a double staircase leading to a balcony that has to be at least on the third floor, and a large front porch lined with gorgeous kerosene lanterns greets visitors from behind a large fountain, the feature of which is a statue of an elegant mermaid spouting water from her mouth. "Wow, Elfie, who's hosting?" I ask. Elfie's mouth spreads into a large grin.

"You are!" she exclaims. Oh, no. "Well, actually, I am, but I told all the guests you were. This is my mother's step-brother's house. You're welcome! Oh, and I booked a band I think you'll like. Very fab," she finishes. I sigh and slug her in the shoulder.

"Is anyone of status here tonight?" I ask. Elfie's blonde head bobs. She reads the guest list off of her phone and I want to cry. Nearly everyone who has requested a dress from me and more are going to be here tonight. I sigh and make my way up the steps that lead to the porch, trying to maintain a delighted expression. Fashionably late to my own party, I think to myself. I throw open the door and greet the people who come up to me, then slowly make my way to the others. I have kissed about one hundred cheeks and shaken about five hundred hands by the time I find a bar set up in the kitchen. I order a Shirley Temple, trying to make myself look good by not getting totally hammered before ten. I lost Elfie in the chaos of the crowd, but I can't bring myself to care.

I'm walking out of the kitchen with my drink when I look down to examine my newly untied left boot. Stupidly, I continue walking despite my downcast eyes, and I run smack into a very solid, very masculine chest. "Sorry," I mumble as my grenadine-and-ginger-ale cocktail tumbles out of my hand and collides with the man's white t-shirt. Crap. I look up slowly, my cheeks on fire, and my breath hitches as a pair of large, dark, mahogany-brown eyes catch mine. I know those eyes. I take a look at some of the other features: a full, pouty mouth, high cheekbones, and dark brown hair with an ungodly amount of volume where the shaved sides meet the longer top. I know this face. I've stared at it on my tumblr dashboard for years; I've loved the songs that have graced the lips.

I just spilled my drink on Brendon Urie.


End file.
